The Best of Mad Swirl : 04.30.16

“Saint Francis at Northpark” (above) by featured artist Maria Valentina Sheets. To view more of Maria’s beatific works, as well as our other featured artists, visit our Gallery at MadSwirl.com!

••• The Poetry Forum •••

This last week in Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we wet dry thoughts with green and water; we traded Byron for balls, but still loved it all; we embraced our beast in a free fall feast; we grabbed a piece of light on lease; we flew fancies in fours and fives; we walked a cold road in the vertex of snow; we wrestled our demon for love from our ghost. Yes! Robin must love. ~ MH Clay

the morning
is snow white,
only snow.
grass blades
are as dead
as her skin,
converge at the corner
of the nearest road;
other roads
have merged
with the dense forest.
measure me
from the nearest road.
i know,
the distance
remains in the vertex

The restless thrill of living
blasts into my face
like a funnel drops from an Oklahoma wall cloud
and wind sucks the breath out
of my lungs and thrusts me on my back.

I’m new then as my tired body slips away
like a snake sheds skin
as I see the earth around me.
I thank god or Anybody for the feast before me.
What does one do with this dangling on the edge –
this free fall of wanting to
feed ravenously on the world?
I eat like a wild animal –
devouring warm flesh,
crunching bones and licking fat,
spitting out sinew until
there is nothing left to rot or pilfer
and in the end
I am mindful not to choke
on the enormity
of such a big catch.

April 26, 2016

editors note: Those newest to the feast feed fastest. So much to swallow, so much to taste. – mh clay

Takeoff by John May

Suppose I spelled “LOVE”
On your bare stomach in cocaine
And quoted Lord Byron?
I mean, I don’t have another bump to my name,
And I’ve memorized Byron
Like I’ve memorized the wrinkles on my balls…

But the love is still there, right?

It’s all that we have left,
And we’ll trip our faces off on that stuff
Raving through the night
Until our swirling hearts
Separate like grease and water…

Love for years and years or
Love for three hours, forty minutes, and
A fifth of Bacardi:
I love it all because I love you.
Monday’ll still come,
Even if the flight is cancelled,
And I’ll still take off from
That airport, where blue lights
out the small window, past the wings,
Mean goodbye for now.

April 25, 2016

editors note: An erstwhile philandering Lothario with love in his heart and frequent flyer miles to log. – mh clay

Shall I wait for dawn to come
And bring his fragrance
To the thoughts dry
Like a jejune land
The night is amarulent
Cacophony penetrates it
I shall close the eyes
Perhaps, tomorrow
There shall be green and water

I hit the bell boy up for breath mints and on the way up to the bar in the lift and finger combed my hair and repeated my drunken mantra which I believed would allow clear speech:

A proper cup of coffee from a Proper copper coffee pot A proper cup of coffee from a proper Copper coffee pot A proper cup of coffee. I hit the bar and ordered myself a bracer.

She didn’t take much locating: she was the only woman in the deserted bar. She sat by herself at the end of the bar.

I drink my bracer and take her in searching for an opening line, a gambit, some leverage that will allow her to see beyond the human Hesperus that I had seen whilst attempting to groom myself in the mirrored lift. I order another bracer and this time tell the bartender that I would like to meet the lady at the end of the bar. He agrees to book introductions conditional on a fine bottle of wine, suggesting an Australian vintage: ‘05 Grampians Shiraz. He winks at me as he quickly précised a review for me with full-bodied and perfumed given innuendo. I agree and he opens a bottle for her explaining that it was from the gentleman who wished only some convivial conversation.

She puts down the novel she had been reading as the barman brokers the suggestion of booking with a fresh drink. She looks to me and smiles and gestures that I should join her.

She smiles again as I seat myself next to her and raising glasses we toast each other with cheers; clinking rims and drinking deeply…

If you think you know how the rest of this drunken love story goes, guess again. It’s a thicker tale than you may think. Get the rest of your read at Mad Swirl!

(ANGST is 40 pages of poetry by MH swirled up with art by Jeff Skele Sheely. Come join us and experience this “Mad ANGST-full Rant!” and buy you a limited & numbered edition of this mad-licious collab-creation)

Come on out, one & all. Get a brainful of Swirve, share in the Mad Swirl’n festivities, & if the spirit is movin’ ya get yourself a spot on our list. Come to be a part of this collective creative love child we affectionately call Mad Swirl Open Mic. Come to participate. Come to appreciate. Come to swirl-a-brate!

The whole Mad Swirl of everything to come keeps on keepin’ on… now… now… NOW! Every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month, every year, every decade, every every EVERY there is! Wanna join in the mad conversations going on in Mad Swirl’s World? Then stop by whenever the mood strikes! We’ll be here…